


Warm

by alafaye



Series: Valentine's 2012 [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock gets shot and a conversation follows between John and Sherlock about Valentine's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a personal challenge of pieces that are not the usual Valentine's stuff.

John's breath misted in front of him. "Couldn't have picked a better night for a stake out?" He rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet a bit.

"They're moving tomorrow," Sherlock said, eyes on the flat in the street across from them. The only sign he had of being even slightly bothered by the severe cold was a just barely pink nose. Otherwise, he was his usual stoic self.

John sighed and shook his head. He looked around them, as was his habit, for anyone sneaking up on them. Sherlock usually was too focused on their suspects to notice what was going on around him so it left John to be the look out. It worked--each task was suited to each of their strengths. _No one ever mentions these kinds of nights_ he thought _How you'll spend many nights uncomfortable waiting for the suspects or looking for them. Should be a handbook for this._

Another half hour passed. The cold had deepened and John thought he could see even Sherlock shivering a bit. John was chilled completely to the bone and thinking longingly of a hot shower followed by a cup of tea and a heating compress for his shoulder. "Are we going to really wait all night?" John asked. "Couldn't we come back in the morning when the sun might give us a bit of warmth?"

"Mm, no," Sherlock said. "They might be gone by then."

John rolled his eyes, but finally Sherlock made a sound that usually meant "finally!" and was off like a shot down the road. John followed quickly, pleased that he was keeping up with Sherlock. The shadow they were following darted right, then left, moving faster than even Sherlock was capable of. Yet, Sherlock found some side street and then another and they fell right next to their suspect.

"Game's up," Sherlock said.

The suspect--a man in his early twenties--pulled out a gun. "Not yet. Back away slowly and I won't shoot."

"You have nowhere to go," Sherlock said. "Nowhere we can't find you."

The man choked on a laugh and shook his head. "Not likely. Back away--now!"

"At least tell me why you did it," Sherlock asked. John's sign. He slowly edged out of sight and around the back. "Why did you kill him? Was it for money?"

"You mean you don't know?" the suspect said. "I thought you knew everything--the great detective."

"Just tell me," Sherlock said calmly. John stepped around a rubbish bin.

"He hurt her!" the suspect said. "Hurt my sister! I couldn't let him get away with it!"

"So you killed him," Sherlock scoffed. "Petty revenge."

"Suppose you wouldn't understand," the man said. "Not having loved ones."

"Don't presume what you cannot even guess at," Sherlock said. "Now come along and--"

The man turned and John suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of the gun. "I'll show you. Just you wait."

John tried not to sigh. He really didn't. But ever since Moriarty, he had trained himself better in hand to hand combat. He wasn't seen as the obvious threat, but their suspects quickly learned otherwise. He ducked and shoved his shoulder in the suspect's stomach. They ran into a wall and John grabbed at the suspect's wrist, trying to push the gun down. During the struggle, the gun went off, but John slammed the wrist into the wall and the gun fell. Another struggle ensued as John tried to knock the suspect out and they ran into the opposite wall, but it was over when the suspect tried to knee John in the groin. John took the distraction to hit the suspect with the butt of his own gun.

Safely out, John looked for Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said quietly. "Call--ambulance."

Shit. The gun shot. John fell to his knees next to Sherlock and looked for the wound. "Where?"

"Shoulder," Sherlock grimaced.

John felt around and found both the entrance and exit of the bullet. He slowly moved Sherlock so he could put pressure on both holes, using his leg for the back, the blood warm on his hands. He used his free hand to call for the police and ambulance both. Sherlock laughed weakly. "Guess we match now."

John groaned. "Don't." He took a deep breath and checked on their suspect who hadn't moved from where he'd fallen. "Why is it always the stupid ones who have the guns?"

"Have to look into that," Sherlock stuttered. John took off his jacket and lay it over Sherlock. "If I go into shock and you freeze, they're going to find three bodies instead of two. Won't look good, that."

"Better to have you warm and avoid shock," John said. "Trust me. Now keep quiet."

Sherlock sighed. Minutes passed--where was that ambulance? John started shivering in the cold and Sherlock was getting paler by the minute, though the blood flow had stopped considerable. "Some Valentine's."

Sherlock's eyelids fluttered. "Overdone."

"Not. For us mere mortals, it's something happy."

"Trite. Cliche. Besides, isn't this more exciting that going on a date somewhere with a woman who will ask you again if you're really not with me?"

"Yes, because I really wanted to spend today making sure my best friend doesn't die from blood loss."

"Could've gone on my own."

John supposed he had point there. "Fine. But you owe me for this."

"Always. Another stupid holiday on the list of what I owe you."

"Your fault."

"You like your dull human holidays which is not my fault."

"Depends on your viewpoint, really. You could just respect that I like to celebrate holidays."

"And you could've not followed me."

"You're living with an adrenaline junkie--you know how to keep me going."

"That sounded almost sexual. Isn't this the same as any other Valentine's day?"

"No, it's not. If it was, I'd have some hope of getting laid before dawn."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste and John laughed. "Got you there."

"Always about sex. Is it ever enough?"

"For us sexual beings, nope."

An ambulance siren sounded in the distance and John half smiled. "Finally. Thought they would never get here."

"Make sure to hit on one of them--then your day will be complete."

"Nah, think I'll just get home and take a hot shower. Then my day will be complete."

"Thought you said--"

"You're delirious from blood loss. You don't know what's going on."

Sherlock hummed in thought. "I think we'll have to discuss blood loss later. We clearly have differing opinions."

"Just a normal conversation, then, for us."

They were quiet as the ambulance found the street and then the alley. John helped the medics load Sherlock on the stretcher and then explained that no, he wasn't hurt. Just covered in blood. He stayed behind with the suspect, but as soon as the cops had in him in cuffs was off to the hospital to check on Sherlock.

It may not have been the usual Valentine's for John, but knowing that Sherlock was alive after facing down a suspect with a gun...well, he supposed that was second to none.


End file.
